


Hold The Wheel And Drive

by veritas_st



Series: Car Sex Vs Bed Sex [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon on Tumblr who wanted Sterek car sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold The Wheel And Drive

“Ow…Jesus…watch the elbow,” Stiles grumbles as Derek’s aforementioned appendage connects with his ribs and Derek growls in response, cutting of Stiles’s word with a sure hand down worming its way into Stiles’s pants. 

It’s cramped, hot, the rain is as loud as thunder on the roof of the car but when Derek runs his thumb over the slit in Stiles’s dick, Stiles doesn’t remember anything except that he loves Derek’s hands on him. 

They haven’t been doing this long, but Derek’s been sniffing around Stiles for a while now, Lydia told him considering Stiles is completely clueless when it comes to affairs of the pants (he refuses to say heart). But Stiles was the first one to crack, steeling himself to pounce on Derek one evening after a pack meeting, Isaac hanging around longer than necessary and Stiles had gotten shifty until Derek had growled at Isaac to go. 

“What’s going on Stiles?” Derek had asked and it had taken Stiles approximately three seconds to make his way across the kitchen into Derek’s personal space and press his lips to Derek’s. Derek had groaned, curled his hands tight around Stiles’s arm and kissed him back. 

They’d done little else except trade hurried hang jobs, fumbling in half darkness pressed up against Stiles’s jeep for months, until Stiles had taken matters into his own hands and basically begged Derek to actually fuck him. Not a proud moment on Stiles’s behalf but it got the job done. 

That had been a few weeks ago, and although Stiles is pretty sure everyone knows, they all have that freaky sense of smell after all, Derek is still pretending like they have a private life, and keeping them under wraps for as long as possible. And if that means they have illicit sex in the back of Derek’s car, who the hell is Stiles to complain. 

Derek manages to get close enough to bury his head in the crook of Stiles’s neck, his teeth scraping the skin lightly as his hands fumble with the buttons on Stiles’s pants. 

“Are you smelling me?” Stiles asks as Derek breathes in deeply and he feels Derek nod his head once, one hand tugging down his pants enough that the angle is still awkward, but his hand around Stiles’s dick moves more freely. 

“Smell good,” Derek growls, rutting against Stiles’s thigh. His dick is hard in his pants against his thigh and Stiles groans as Derek twists his hand. 

“Freak,” the word tails off at the end with a squeak as Derek bites down on Stiles’s skin. Derek’s always like that, he likes to leave marks, sends Stiles home covering up hickies and scratches. Stiles likes to press his fingers to them when he’s alone, remember the pain pleasure of Derek leaving them. 

“Where did you put there…” 

“Glove box,” Stiles breathes out as Derek squeezes at the base of his dick and licks up the length of his throat. The soft growl that escapes Derek’s throat rumbles through Stiles’s. And then he’s gone, leaning through the front seats but keeping one hand on Stiles’s chest. He curls his fingers into Stiles’s skin and Stiles wraps his own around Derek’s wrist. 

“Come on Derek,” he whines and Derek smirks down at him, flips open the lid of a small bottle of lube with his thumb. 

“Pushy,” he mutters, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he coats his fingers and runs them down over Stiles’s balls. Stiles arches upwards, his fingers curled around Derek’s wrist. Derek’s fingers are long, dexterous and one pushes inside Stiles as he leans down and kisses Stiles, licks along the roof of his mouth until Stiles is panting back into Derek’s. Derek adds another finger, growls “like that?” into Stiles’s mouth as Stiles whimpers and tries to breathe in the stuffy car, his senses filled with _Derek_. “Love you like this,” Derek mutters, pushing another finger inside and pressing his hips down against Stiles’s dick.

“You don’t love me at other times?” Stiles manages to ask as Derek curls his fingers inside. 

“Shut up,” he growls, forehead pressed to Stiles’s, and Stiles feels Derek’s dick hard against his thigh as Derek ruts down, a growl rumbling through his chest, “like this your mine,” he says and _God_ that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, it shouldn’t make arousal coil in Stiles’s stomach, shouldn’t make his toes curl as Derek spreads his fingers a little wider, hips pressing down on his dick. Stiles reaches up and drags his fingers through Derek’s hair, grips at the back of his neck, breathes “yours” into Derek’s mouth and comes, hard enough to see stars, over Derek’s thigh and his own stomach. 

“Stiles,” Derek chokes out, his hips moving against Stiles’s thigh and Stiles runs his hands down Derek’s back, pulls him closer and wraps a leg awkwardly around him. It doesn’t take long for Derek to come, hips stuttering against Stiles’s thigh, damp heat blooming across his skin through his jeans. It should be disgusting, should be gross and make Stiles grimace but he relishes the way Derek lets out a small whimper and collapses, face pressed to Stiles’s neck. His teeth scrape lazily against Stiles’s skin once and then he’s moving, pushing him up and off and grimacing as his jeans move against his spent dick. 

Stiles opens his mouth and Derek covers it with his mouth, “don’t ruin it,” he says with a half smile and Stiles bites on his bottom lip as Derek takes his hand away, “let’s get you home.” 

“Can I speak yet?” Stiles asks as Derek pulls into Stiles’s driveway. Derek pretends to think about it for a second before nodding once and Stiles clambers across the space between them, throws a leg over Derek’s thighs and wraps his hands around Derek’s face. Derek makes a noise of protest that turns into a groan as Stiles kisses him. 

“You didn’t say anything,” Derek says when Stiles pulls away and glances at his house, Derek’s hands resting on his hips clutch tighter, almost like he’s reluctant to let Stiles go. 

“Guess I’m learning then,” he says and Derek lets out a bark of a laugh. 

“Guess so,” he runs a thumb across Stiles’s lower lip, his eyes darkening, “get in there before I haul you into the backseat again,” Stiles presses his hips down against Derek’s. 

“And that would be a bad thing…why?” Stiles asks. 

“Because your dad is watching the car from the porch,” Derek says matter-of-factly. 

“Shit,” Stiles curses, clambers off Derek, get’s his foot caught in the seat belt and nearly knocks himself out of the dashboard. Derek watches him with amusement as Stiles pushes open the door and climbs out. 

“Night Stiles,” Derek calls and Stiles leans down and across, presses a quick kiss to his lips, mutters “night” against them. Derek’s hand runs across his head and Stiles arches into it and he hauls himself away, before he can crawl back into Derek’s lap. 

He’s well aware of the stupid grin he has plastered on his face as he walks past his dad, he ignores the Sheriff’s raised eyebrow and practically skips up the stairs to bed. 

He’s probably going to dream of Derek, strong hands and dark muttered words of ownership, but he dreams of that most nights so there’s nothing unusual there.


End file.
